


Cobb Sandwich

by Mandaloria593



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Sex, Crack, Drunk Sex, Gender or Sex Swap, Humor, Identity Swap, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: s02e01 The Marshal, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28719240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandaloria593/pseuds/Mandaloria593
Summary: Din and Cara find themselves body-swapped for one night. They double-team Cobb. That’s it. That’s the story.
Relationships: Cara Dune/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cara Dune/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	Cobb Sandwich

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin. But please, **please** don’t proceed if you may be squicked, triggered, or otherwise just not into the idea of three people having enthusiastically-consented to but drunken, gender-mashed-up sex. The POV involves a male-identifying person who normally has a dick having penetrative vaginal sex while in a woman’s body. And he isn’t feeling very introspective about it. This is a pwp crack fic, not an essay on sex as a social construct. So, fair warning! That said, if you’re still choosing to read, then let the Cobb-sandwich fun begin!

Din read the slip of paper again. “ _One night in each other’s shoes, then come morning back to you._ So, what do we do?” he asked Cara, who was literally in his shoes...his boots, to be exact, and his armor, helmet, all of it. 

“No idea,” Cara replied. She reached out and touched Din’s face— _her_ face with Din’s mind working actively behind it. “I suppose we just wait it out? It says we’ll be switched back into our own bodies in the morning.”

“Do you trust that?”

Cara shrugged. “I didn’t see what happened. Neither did you. We don’t really have any clues to follow up on.”

That was true. “I know what i’m going to do,” Din declared. 

Cara tilted the helmet at him. “And what’s that?”

“I’m going for a drink. At the cantina. Because I can.” He was already turning on his heel and marching towards the cantina. 

“What about me?” Cara asked, jogging after him.

“I’ll get you a straw.”

And that’s how Din and Cara wound up several rounds in at the bar as the cantina band played a lively if repetitive tune. 

In Din’s body, Cara was sitting confidently on the barstool, sloshing her drink in her hand as she sipped it through a straw under Din’s helmet. Her legs were spread wide, taking up more space than necessary, and she had one elbow resting casually on the counter.

Din’s own awkward perching on his stool had relaxed into a slump, and he kicked his legs a bit as he downed one drink after another.

They were three or four drinks in when Din saw him. 

He just about spit out his drink. 

“Do you think this band knows more than one song?” Cara was grumbling.

Din could not have cared less about the music at that moment. _Cobb Vanth_ had just strolled into the Mos Eisley cantina like he owned the place. Cobb paused at the entrance, hip cocked in that familiar swagger. Din watched as the man’s hazel eyes honed in like lasers on Cara. Well, on Cara _in_ _Din’s body._

“Mando!” Cobb exclaimed, walking over to them. “Didn’t expect to be running into you again so soon!” Cobb threw a friendly hand over Cara’s shoulder, clapping the pauldron as he grinned. 

Cara was looking for a cue from Din from under Cobb’s embrace. Din waved for her to _‘just go with it.’_ Then, he cleared his throat to prompt Cara to get Cobb to give him some attention, too. 

Cara gestured to Din. “Meet Cara Dune. _Marshal_ Cara Dune.”

Cobb turned towards Din and gave him the most dazzling, charming smile. It hadn’t been long since Din last saw that smile, but he found he’d been missing it already. “Cobb Vanth,” Cobb introduced himself. He slowly lifted the hand that Din had absently laid on the counter and brought the back of it to his lips. “Marshal,” Cobb murmured, kissing Din’s hand. Din now understood why some people were prone to swooning. 

Cara was observing them with hawk-like eyes. 

“I thought you missed _me,_ ” she jokingly pouted...in Din’s voice.

Cobb gently placed Din’s hand back on the counter then swiveled to tilt his head at Cara. “But of course, Mando!” Cobb drawled, and he draped an arm around Cara again. He leaned in towards the helmet and said conspiratorially, “And hey, _I’m_ not the one who zipped away on that speeder faster than a man could say ‘let me buy you a drink for saving my town.’” 

“That was my mistake,” Cara said easily. _Flirtatiously._ She motioned for the barkeep. “Three shots.” The bartender poured three fingers of amber liquid, and Cara slid one towards Din and one towards Cobb. “A drink then, on me.”

“Anything’s gotta be better than that bantha piss the Tuskens gave me.” Cobb accepted the drink with a low murmur of “thanks, darling” to Cara that Din almost missed, then tipped his chin back and downed the shot. Din just held his glass tightly and watched enraptured as Cobb’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

“Didn’t realize you were so picky about what you’d swallow,” Cara teased. 

At the innuendo, a little of the amber liquid missed Cobb’s mouth, and Cobb licked it up with his tongue before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Din was entranced. “Strong stuff you picked there, Mando.”

Cara pushed her untouched glass towards Cobb. “Here, have another.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Cobb agreed. But he took a moment to glance at Din. “Drink with me this time, won’t you, Marshal?”

Din nodded. They clinked their glasses and downed them in one gulp. Din slammed his empty glass down on the table, feeling a little woozy. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was from the alcohol burning down his throat or the feelings the man in front of him was stirring. He realized he was blatantly staring at Cobb, looking him up and down in an appreciative way that was probably rude or...provocative...without his helmet to shield his face. But Din couldn’t stop himself. He’d wanted Cobb before, but he hadn’t been sure it was a possibility. It was starting to seem like a possibility now. 

“Where’s the little one?” Cobb was asking Cara. 

“Babysitter,” Cara answered for Din. Din had left Grogu safely in the care of Peli. “All night, actually,” Cara added unprompted. 

Cobb’s eyebrows quirked up. “That’s...good? Fun night for you two, then?” He seemed to be asking whether Din and Cara were...together. Din wanted to correct that misconception but wasn’t sure how to broach it.

“Hm,” Cara mused. She leaned across the counter towards Din like she might have imagined she was whispering quietly—she wasn’t—when she said, “I can see why you like him. He’s got charisma.”

“Shh!” Din whisper-shouted back with all the finesse of someone with many empty, lip-printed glasses on the table around them. He didn’t want her revealing their weird predicament. 

Cobb just rubbed his forehead in confusion. “Did you tell the Marshal about me, Mando?”

“Oh, uh, yes, I did,” Cara recovered, ignoring Din’s plaintive looks. 

“Say anything nice?” Cobb asked, but he was looking at Din. 

Din was hovering on the edge of his stool, drawn helplessly towards Cobb. 

Cobb’s eyes raked over Din’s form. Din flushed when he realized Cobb’s gaze had lowered to Cara’s—to _his_ —cleavage. They were...nice breasts, aesthetically, if a person was into that sort of thing. Din wasn’t really. But Cobb seemed to be a fan, and Din straightened his posture to offer a perkier view. 

“Did I say anything niiiiice?” Cara mused, drawing out the word. “I guess that depends if something _filthy_ counts as nice.”

“Cara!” Din hissed, then covered his mouth clumsily with his hand. “Di’kut!”

“I, uh?” Cobb’s head whipped back and forth between them so fast he knocked over several of the glasses on the counter. The barkeeper had to come wipe down the sticky mess. Cara held up three fingers, and three new drinks replaced the knocked-over ones. 

Cara was suddenly tugging Din off his stool. “We need to have a little chat,” she explained apologetically to Cobb, casually patting his thigh with sloppy movements, and Din wasn’t completely sure she hadn’t _groped_ the man. It was bemusing to witness himself act so shamelessly. It wasn’t that he couldn’t pull an enticing stranger in a bar—he could, and he _had—_ but his style was much more reserved. Given the unique allure of the Mandalorian armor, it usually didn’t take much to narrow down a viable partner—someone who wouldn’t mind that the helmet stayed on. 

Cobb seemed perplexed but didn’t turn down the drink. “Uh, okay?” 

Cara gabbed Din by the arm and led him just a few steps away. “He wants you!” she crowed. 

“What?”

“That man. That hunk of a man. Wants. You.”

“I think you mean he wants _you_ ,” Din whined, shoving at her a bit in the beskar cuirass.

“I know! It’s perfect. Let’s pick him up.”

Din demurred. “You don’t even know if he swings both ways.”

“Oh puhlleaaase. He’s hot for both of us. I can tell. He’s a smooth-talkin’ ladies’ man. But I think he also thought he had no chance with you. He didn’t bat an eyelash when I just felt him up. What did you two do all during your little trip to the Dune Sea together? Knit?”

“We fought a _dragon.”_

“Come on. It’s obvious you want him. He wants you, too. You’d like him to fuck you, wouldn’t you? I know your type. And I want to stick your dick in someone. When will I ever have the chance again? Please?”

Din should have felt scandalized. But as he stole another look at Cobb, all he felt was longing and a building, dangerous excitement about the possibilities the night had to offer. He wondered… “Let’s _suggest_ and see if he’s interested.”

“Yes!” Cara nearly shrieked, which sounded so strange coming from Din’s modulated voice. “Just trust me. I’ll work him in, since he obviously has the hots for you in this armor, and then you seal the deal by kissing him.”

“Kiss him?” Din repeated anxiously, but he was already warming to the idea.

“Yeah, isn’t that on your bucketless bucket list? Now’s your chance. I give you my blessing. Anything you want to do, just do it.”

“I...” Din trailed off, trying to imagine it. He tried to imagine kissing Cobb, touching Cobb, letting Cobb touch him. Thinking about it made his body feel hot all over. Cobb was watching them whisper loudly about him. He was leaning against the bar, sipping a drink, one ankle crossed over the other. He looked sinfully good. And he looked _interested._ “Okay, let’s try.”

“Where’s the confidence? Buck up. Get over there and _flirt._ Like he’s really gonna turn down the chance to fuck us. _”_

As if that was her cue to up the ante, Din watched her _sway her hips_ as she returned to Cobb’s side. But any embarrassment about how she was acting in his body paled in comparison to the liquid courage and desire running through his own veins. They could do this. It was just one night. One night of reckless fun. It was just about feeling good with good people. Din looked down and adjusted his...cleavage...and followed right behind her. 

Cara was sitting on the stool again, and she was sipping one of the drinks through the straw. “So Cobb,” Cara started. “I bet you want to know what we were talking about over there.”

“Mando, I’m reasonably certain you were talking about me. You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Subtly’s overrated.” Cara scooted closer to Cobb and boldly put a gloved hand on his thigh. “That was very observant of you. That’s good. We both like an observant man, don’t we, Mand--Marshal Dune?”

Din choked a little on his drink, and Cobb reached to help him, rubbing his back and saying “easy there” in hushed tones that made Din shudder in a different, better way. Din couldn’t remember what Cara had asked him. Instead, he bravely stretched out his hand to cup Cobb’s jaw with his bare palm. Cobb’s skin was warm, the texture coarse with its attractive, evening shadow. He could feel Cobb swallow under his touch. _Exquisite._ “Are you interested, Cobb?”

Cara had hopped off the stool. She looped one arm around Din and one arm around Cobb. 

“What exactly is on the table here?” Cobb asked, barely vocalizing the question. 

Cara answered, “The helmet stays on. The rest...”

“The rest is negotiable,” Din supplied. 

Cobb sucked in a breath.

Cara leaned in close, bringing their three heads together. “I think the question my friend and I are trying to figure out is...which one of us would you rather fuck?”

Cobb wheezed, and Cara patted his back, letting gloved fingers tease the cropped hair at Cobb’s nape under his red scarf.

Din was transfixed by the shocked but unmistakably aroused expression on Cobb’s face. Emboldened, he reached for Cobb’s face again and tilted it towards him. He meant to say something smooth, like a pickup line. Instead, all that came out was a soft sigh, and then he was leaning in with lips that weren’t covered by beskar and were free to take liberties with others'. This close, Din observed the way Cobb’s eyelashes fluttered and how his lips pursed together expectantly. Din copied him and then placed his lips on Cobb’s waiting mouth. 

Din was breathless and trembling. Cobb’s lips pressed back and parted for him. Din mirrored the movements, and they were properly kissing now. It was somehow _more_ than Din had anticipated—more impactful, more pleasurable, more everything. Cobb tasted like the liquor they’d been sharing and like a sandstorm, musky and chaotic and rippling the air with the undercurrent of a mighty force that could be unleashed at any moment. Cobb angled his head and Din felt a tongue stroke the seam of his lips. He gasped at the delightful, heady sensation, and Cobb took it as an invitation to deepen the kiss. Din felt an incredible buzz from the tip of his head to his toes. He thought he might melt into the floor. He whimpered and clutched at Cobb’s bicep. 

Cobb tore his mouth away with a bit-off sound that wasn’t too different from Din’s own. “Woah.”

“Good, right?” Cara prompted, and Din was amazed his own voice could reach that low of an octave. “He’s been wanting, I mean, _she’s_ been wanting to do that since you walked in here. Maybe even before.”

Cobb squinted in some confusion. But Cara just slid another drink to him. “Here’s the thing. You don’t have to decide between us.”

Din watched as Cobb stared open-mouthed at Cara. His mouth was still wet from Din’s kiss. “I don’t?” 

“Nope,” Cara answered, and Din was pretty sure her hand had slipped down Cobb’s back to grope his ass from the slight squeak that Cobb let out. “Here’s what I propose, Marshal Vanth. We have one more drink together. Then, we head back to my room. And then, you let me fuck you, while you fuck her.”

Cobb ran a shaky hand through his hair and whistled. “Ho boy, uh, I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little confused by some of what’s taking place here, but that could be booze talkin’...and uh, fuck it, _yes._ ”

“Yes?” Din checked, still blown away by Cobb’s willingness even though Cara had assured he’d be game. And Din wasn’t so drunk that he was unaware Cobb had figured out something was a little off between them, though there was no way he’d guess the truth: that Cara was Din, and Din was Cara.

“Yes, yes, to both of you, to whatever this is, yes to all of it,” Cobb said in a rush before holding up his glass.

Din held up his glass, too. 

“Cheers,” Cara said.

The three of them clinked the glasses of their last round. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

They stumbled into the glorified closet with a bed that Cara had rented for the night, even though Din had offered her a spot on the _Crest_. 

As Din closed and locked the door behind them, Cara was already manhandling Cobb to sit on the edge of the bed. She was tugging at his red scarf and shirt, encouraging him to lift his arms so she could pull it all the way off. Seeing _himself_ be so forward with Cobb was... _kriff._ The arousal between his legs felt different but still good, like he was melting and aching for something to ride rather than swelling and hardening. He wanted to reach his hand down his pants. He wanted Cobb to reach _his_ hand down his pants. He needed to get out of the fucking pants. “Why are your clothes so tight?” he complained to Cara in frustration as he tried to undo pieces of finely woven leather. 

“C’mere, goddess,” Cobb invited, spreading his knees to make space for Din between his legs. 

Standing in front of Cobb, who was seated on the low bed, Cobb’s face was at about the height of Din’s belt buckle. Din let him work at the ties and fastenings. Behind Din, Cara was equally struggling with Din’s armor. Din chuckled as Cara searched for hidden clasps, evidently trying to avoid just tearing the armor off out of respect. But cool air on Din’s stomach and chest drew his attention back to Cobb, who had managed to get Din’s pants undone and had moved up to work on his top half. Cara’s breasts spilled into Cobb’s roughly calloused hands, making Din gasp. “You work fast, Marshal,” he said. 

Cobb looked up at him from beneath hooded eyes. “Not too fast, I hope.”

“Perfect,” Din praised, cupping his hand around Cobb’s head. 

Cobb took the position as a cue to take one of Din’s breasts in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the nipple. Din jerked forward, knees buckling. He’d had his pecs played with before, but he didn’t remember his nipples ever being so _sensitive._ He liked it a lot. 

“A little help here,” Cara eventually interrupted. 

_Right._ Din turned around and proceeded to efficiently strip Cara of his armor with practiced hands. As he did so, he wondered what she was looking at from behind the visor. As comfortable as they were with each other, and even though it was Cara’s idea, this was not an intimacy they had shared before. 

“Can I help unwrap?” Cobb asked, coming up behind Cara. 

“You just wanna see what’s under there.”

“Can you blame me, Marshal?” Cobb returned. And then he was helping strip Cara, hands following Din’s lead and then getting distracted with unzipping the flightsuit to find bare skin as Din worked at the knee guards. “Kriff, Mando, you’re fuckin’ _gift-wrapped._ You’re _gorgeous.”_

The words might not have been directed at Din—well, they _were,_ sort of. But the sound of them rolling off Cobb’s delicious tongue—which Din knew was delicious because he’d _tasted it_ at the cantina—was doing all sorts of things to Din’s insides. 

Din finished helping Cara remove the rest of the armor and helped her balance while she eased out of the boots. Behind her, Cobb was...not helping. He was just caressing each bit of newly revealed skin, kissing along Cara’s shoulder and murmuring nonsense. Watching Cobb kiss his body, even if Din wasn’t in it, was stimulating, to say the least.

Din hurriedly but carefully lined up the armor against the wall in his usual way that would make it easier to rapidly put back on in case of emergency. He didn’t often take it _all_ off, even under such amorous circumstances. Speaking of which...Din took off the rest of his clothes too, now that Cobb had loosened it all up for him. When he faced back around, he took a moment to lean back against the wall and just watch again. Cobb seemed _really appreciative_ of Din's body. Din took good care of it, the way men like his and Cobb’s age had to. Cara was obviously enjoying Cobb’s worshipping, and didn’t seem at all unsure what to do with her current body as she slowly jacked herself as Cobb tended to other parts of her. Din wondered if holding her dick felt as weird to her as _not_ having his felt to him. At this stage of arousal, he was used to all of his ardor concentrating in the base of his cock, making it stiffen and rise, but now he still felt the pinpoint of coiled desire between his legs but more diffused. The ache and the want was the same. With exploratory fingers, he touched himself between Cara’s folds. _Intense,_ he decided was the word for it. His fingers came away wet and he stared at them like he’d forgotten that not everyone had to carry lube around. 

“Vanth,” Cara purred, “I think you should properly thank the Marshal for helping me get naked.” 

“Sure,” Cobb agreed, though he seemed reluctant to let Cara go. To let Din go. 

Din shook the confusion away, letting it get absorbed by the copious amount of alcohol coursing through him. He reached for Cobb, who pressed himself up against Din from chest to thighs. Din’s back was to the wall. 

“Kiss him— _her. Damn it.”_

Cobb didn’t seem to be in the mood to investigate their slip-ups, and simply dove in, lips first. 

Oh, this was even better than before. Cobb was passionate, and willing to school Din’s tongue into a semblance of competency that was pulling needy sounds from the back of Din’s throat. Din clawed at Cobb’s back, as if he could pull him closer even though there was not an inch of space. Cobb’s hardness was straining between them, desperate for attention. Din wanted to crawl into Cobb’s very skin and burrow there forever. He wanted Cobb to crawl into his own skin, to mount him, to fuck him this instant. But there was something else he wanted to try while he could. Using all Cara’s not inconsiderable strength, Din launched himself up and _flipped them,_ switching their positions. Now, Din was crowding Cobb up against the wall. 

Cobb’s head thunked against the wall from the rough handling. Din soothed it with kisses down his jaw, neck, then down further along his sparsely furred chest. Din licked and trailed messy kisses down the line of silvered hair until he reached Cobb’s straining erection that had yet to be taken out of his unbuttoned pants. He palmed the thick length, and it jumped under his touch. 

“Marshal,” Cobb begged.

He didn’t have to beg. Din had no intention of stopping. He eased Cobb’s dick out of his pants and bent down to suck lightly on the head before licking one wide stripe from root to tip. He then opened his mouth wider and took Cobb in as far as he could go. 

“Fuck,” Cobb grated above him, slim hips surging forward. Din held him down easily from his position on his knees, one hand curled around a jutting hip bone and one grabbing almost an entire asscheek. So much energy and strength in such a lanky frame. _Hot_ was all Din could think to call him. 

Din had never performed this act, but he knew what he liked done on himself. He caught his breath, mouthing at Cobb’s balls before bringing one of his hands to help stroke the base of Cobb’s cock as he took the tip between his lips again.

Din was so focused on the pleasure of bringing Cobb off that he almost jumped when someone else’s hand tapped his shoulder. “Hey now, you don’t want him to come like that, do you?”

Din released Cobb with a loud, wet pop. 

Cobb groaned at the loss but tangled his hands tenderly through Din’s long hair. “He’s right. I think someone said something about me in the middle between the two most stunning people I’ve ever laid eyes on?”

Cara laughed. “Pretty words from a pretty mouth.” 

Din rose up from his knees using Cobb’s body as a ladder. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, yes.” He stroked along Cobb’s cock with light fingertips, teasing but with a promise. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. In the ass, I think.” Din knew he liked anal and wasn’t sure yet about the other option. What did Cara prefer? It was _her_ body. He looked to Cara for guidance, or permission. 

“I told you, you have my blessing to do _whatever you feel like,”_ she said, like she understood his hesitation. 

Cara was pushing a condom wrapper into Cobb’s hand. She kept another one for herself. “And I’m going to fuck you, Marshal. _In the ass,_ as my friend so eloquently put it.”

“Hot _damn,”_ Cobb hissed, clearly pleased with the arrangement. 

After some maneuvering, the three of them were tumbling onto the bed, which was too small for three adults to lay side by side, but that didn’t matter because that wasn’t the position Din was aiming for. He wanted to feel Cobb’s weight on him, surrounding him. He flopped onto the bed chest first. He quickly realized he needed something to cushion Cara’s ample breasts, and snagged a pillow. Cobb’s hands were there soon enough anyway, cupping Din’s breast as he plastered his body to Din’s. Something about having Cobb hold the heavy weight of his bosom was both comforting and arousing in equal measure, like Cobb was literally lightening the load Din constantly carried. Din curled his body into Cobb’s like a tamed nexu, stretching luxuriously as Cobb caressed him.

Cobb’s hips stuttered against him as he bit off a curse, and Din wondered what Cara’s clever fingers were up to. Cobb’s Dick was wet from Din’s earlier ministrations as it dragged between the cheeks of Din’s ass, and Din arched with the thrilling anticipation of being filled. 

Cobb was scrambling for control over his limbs. “I need to...Let me…” Din heard a packet of lube being ripped open, and then Cobb’s fingers were slipping between his legs. Like Din’s had earlier, his leathery fingers caressed between Din’s folds before slipping to the puckered entrance below. “You want me here?” Cobb asked, checking in as he deftly circled the entrance.

But something was nagging at Din, like he was missing something, a pleasure denied. He snaked one of his own hands down his front to touch himself between the folds again, scraping along the little nub at the top and gasping from behind his teeth as he did so. _So good._ He knew the clit was the gold standard of his current...equipment. But he thought of the wetness dripping from his core and wondered if it would be better stimulated if let Cobb fuck him a little closer to the spot of tingling nerves. Cara had said to do whatever he felt like. And the utter _naturalness_ of how easily it felt like Cobb would slip inside, desire-soaked as he was, made up his mind for him. “Wait,” he breathed. “Here,” and he guided Cobb’s talented fingers up from his ass. 

Cobb accommodated Din’s realignment without fuss, hefting Din’s hips up to a better angle and rearranging the pillow under him. The feeling of two of Cobb’s fingers—which felt _huge_ —dipping inside him was, again, _intense._ Definitely more nerve endings here. Cobb worked him and said things like “that’s it” and “rrrrreal good,” rolling his r’s and giving a xenolinguistics lesson in creative expletives as Cara worked him open, too. Din thought he could tell from Cobb’s gasps when Cara found his prostate. 

“Okay, okay, darlins, easy now,” Cobb was saying. Din knew he’d be a talker from their first meeting back in Mos Pelgo when Din had threatened to strip him and Cobb had just talked and talked. But he’d underestimated how much the incessant drivel spilling from Cobb’s lips would spur his own arousal, make him clench and writhe under him. 

And then Cobb was sinking into Din’s wet heat. 

They both moaned. 

Cobb was being agonizingly careful with him, like he would break, but Din knew Cara’s body could take more. Much more. He didn’t want to go slow, didn’t want too much time to think about what he was feeling, even though it was good, amazing really, fuck, but he wanted to get on with it. He wanted Cobb to pound into him, to take him roughly, to own him a little, just for tonight. “Cobb. Move,” he demanded.

Cobb began moving his hips at a leisurely pass. “Let it build, sweetheart,” he purred over Din’s ear. Din turned his head so they could share a messy kiss. It grew uncoordinated when Cobb started thrusting faster, finding a rhythm that had Din fisting the sheets, his mouth hanging open, just breathing Cobb’s air under the blissful onslaught.

“Ready?” Cara was asking from behind Cobb.

“Oh yeah,” Cobb rumbled, the yearning affirmative coming from deep within his belly. Din wished he could see as Cara pressed into him, wondered how it looked to see his body fucking into Cobb’s as Cobb fucked into him. “Maaando.” Cobb’s voice was _shattered._ His thrusts stuttered, holding Din on the razor’s edge of pleasure as he got used to the sensation of fullness. Din knew he was well-endowed. It would take a minute. He held still, and rubbed at his clit, which sent off a million little fireworks. He reached further beneath himself to wrap his hand around the base of Cobb’s cock, which was still throbbing partway inside him.

“ _Cobb.”_ His voice was utterly wrecked. 

He heard a familiar, modulated voice groaning, too. “I knew it’d be good, but I didn’t think it’d be this kriffin’ good.” Cara sounded wondrous. Din knew he’d sound the same if he was buried to the hilt in Cobb’s perfect ass. 

Din’s buzz was still going, but he was about to order someone to _move already_ when Cara finally started fucking Cobb in earnest. 

The room became filled with the sounds of pleased grunts and sweaty flesh slapping, a dirty symphony that Din could hear all too well without the filter of his helmet’s audio system. Din was overwhelmed by the added sensory information, and he was unusually focused on the way his cheek ended up rubbing in his own drool on the bed sheets. It was _good,_ but it was also a lot, and he felt exposed and flayed open even though his face was tucked into the sheets. 

Drunk as he must have been, Cobb was still an attentive lover. He reacted to Din’s every gasp and whimper, touching him different places...his shoulder, his sternum, his hip, his lower back, and sometimes even his clit, which sent Din skyrocketing up the bed so hard that Cobb had to grab him and hold him onto his pulsing dick. 

Cara seemed completely in her element directing the whole affair, leading them in a rhythm that was getting all of them off. Truthfully, Din was already approaching some kind of precipice, his whole body wildly oversensitized. As spectacular as Cobb felt thrusting in and out of him, spearing him slick and sharp, frenzied pace set by Cara, he batted Cobb’s fumbling fingers away from between his legs so he could press and rub at the spot that had him seeing stars again. He was close. 

Din belatedly perceived Cobb’s groans as words in Basic. “Talk to me, Mando,” Cobb was entreating.

“You feel good,” Din told him. It wasn’t much, but he was beyond coherency at this point, his brain entirely focused on the perfect friction and on reaching the tipping point to ecstasy that was just out of reach.

“What she said,” Cara echoed above him in Din’s voice. _Right._ Cobb wanted to hear _Din’s voice. His voice._ “I mean, you’re the fuckin’ sexiest thing on this planet. But you know that, don’t you?” His voice in her mouth sounded out of breath. Din could relate. 

Din heard a loud smack followed by a growl that ended with teeth at his scapula. The brief pain licked fire between his legs, and a tongue followed the bite, soothing the hurt. 

“I said, you know that, don’t you? You know you’re hot?”

Cobb’s breathing changed into something approximating a laugh. “I try,” he replied. 

Din loved hearing him happy. He wiggled, wanting to flip over and try another position, but it was still good, just like this, with Cara pistoning her hips and Cobb bucking into him in faster and faster. 

“S’ry, I can’t, I’m gonna-” Cobb’s attempt at a warning barely precipitated his body seizing up, pumping a last few strokes into Din. For all that Cobb clearly loved using his honeyed voice, he was silent as he came, shuddering and dragging his hands down Din’s back and grabbing his ass. The feel of his release was muted by the condom, but Din certainly felt when Cobb pulled out, the loss and the stretch making Din hiss uncomfortably. 

Cobb’s fingers searched him out again in sensuous apology, diving between Din’s legs and this time exercising more skill. It occurred to Din that Cobb may actually have a leg up on knowing how to bring him off this way. He spread his legs again, egging Cobb on. 

“That’s it, bring us off,” Cara coaxed at the same time. Din was a little in awe at her stamina, if she hadn’t come yet. He knew he’d have barely lasted with Cobb opening up beneath him for the first time. _The first time._ Could this happen again? But with Din back in his own body? 

Din’s body reacted to his mind’s overexcitement, carrying him towards that nebulous cliff better than any fantasy. With a cry, torn between the rapturous sensation of Cobb’s fingers and the idea of fucking Cobb as himself, Din came. He was shocked by the high-pitched sound of his own passionate wail, and he surged up onto his knees to cut off his voice with Cobb’s lips. Cobb’s mouth was slack at first, and Din had to hold him up as his taught frame trembled through Cara’s equally vocal orgasm. 

Cobb collapsed first onto the bed, Cara following and Din curled into his side. 

They were all breathing heavily, bodies exerted and sated.

Din’s mind raced, and he blocked it all out, just savoring the way Cobb was cradling him like something precious. 

Cara was the first to speak, and she was smug. “Wrung out, old man?”

Cobb laughed again, and it made Din want to say witty things too, to bring out that deep, sweet-sounding chuckle. 

“He’s not old,” Din countered. “He’s perfect. He can bench press hundreds of pounds of dragon meat.”

But Cara was remorseless. “He can handle my meat any day.”

Over Cobb’s chortling, Din found Cara’s helmet and thwacked it, knowing it would ring irritatingly. 

“Is that a standing invitation when you’re on Tatooine, Mando?” Cobb questioned lightly, but there was a pining there, a hungry eagerness that mirrored the same longing in Din. 

Cara paused a beat. “I dunno. Is that a standing invitation, hm?”

Din knew she was talking to him. “Definitely,” he answered without hesitation, thinking again of recreating a version of this same scenario once he was back in his own body. Would he fuck Cobb first, or let Cobb fuck him first? He couldn’t decide which sounded better. He had a feeling Cara wouldn’t mind terribly if they left her out when she went back to Nevarro. She was always trying to get him to make more _friends._

“Well, fancy that,” Cobb said affably as he shifted to fold his hands behind his head, making his chest the perfect pillow on which Din could lay his head. 

“I’ll tell you what _I_ fancy,” Cara started to say, and Din thwacked her on the helmet again to shut her up. He appreciated the spirit of her questionable help, but he’d tell Cobb what he fancied in his own time. In his own body. In his own way. 

_This is the way,_ he thought to himself, and then cracked up laughing at the incongruity, likely confounding both his companions. He was still a little drunk, and his body ached with a pleasant soreness. He felt something like joy bubble up inside him and settle into his pleasure-slaked bones like cool water on a hot Tatooine night. A hot night indeed. 


End file.
